"Where'd you go?" Billy drawled lazily when Machiavelli edged his way back into the room. He settled comfortably into his pillow, his eyes mostly closed, but groaned when he turned his head. The movement apparently hurt more than it should have. "I woke up and you were gone," the Kid told him, sounding faintly puzzled.
"Sorry," Machiavelli told him. Hesitantly, he climbed back under the covers on his side, settling on his side so that he could see Billy while he talked to him. "I went down to the kitchen for a minute. I needed to get some ibuprofen. I had a lot to drink last night." Billy seemed to accept that, but the Italian immortal found it odd that the other immortal hadn't mentioned anything about last night yet. He leaned forward slightly. "Billy, about last night-"
"Did you have fun last night?" the outlaw mumbled.
Machiavelli was slightly throw off. He wasn't sure if this was a trick or not. "Y-yeah. I did, I mean it was unexpected, but-"
"What time did we leave the club?" Billy interrupted, holding his head. "Hey Mac, you didn't happen to bring any pills up for me, did you?" Machiavelli shook his head and the Kid sighed softly. He groaned covering himself more firmly with the blanket as if to ward off any errant sunlight that might creep into the room.
"We left around two in the morning," Niccolò said finally, realization beginning to dawn inside of him. "Don't you remember that?"
Billy rubbed absently at his ear. He frowned in concentration. "I remember it a little," he said slowly. "It was raining, wasn't it? But that's really all I've got. I imagine I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after that, didn't I?" At Machiavelli's silent nod, he nodded himself. "Yeah, alcohol always makes me sleepy. And I had quite a bit to drink last night. I don't usually drink that much…" He trailed off, his features relaxing, but Machiavelli was pretty sure that the outlaw was still at least somewhat awake.
Machiavelli rolled onto his back, not sure what to feel. Part of him felt sharp relief, knowing that he'd bought himself some more time. But a smaller part, his innermost part, felt a deep twinge of regret. Billy's amnesia meant that he was essentially back to square one, at least as far as the outlaw was concerned, but their little rendezvous last night had pushed Machiavelli much farther down the continuum of thought and feeling. "Billy?" he called out aloud.
"Yeah, Mac?"
"What are we going to do today?"
Billy fumbled around on the head board for his phone, and locating it, lit it up. He glanced blearily at the time and then turned it over again, the bright light apparently too much for him. "Sleep for a few more hours, I think, and then we should probably think about cleaning this place up." He thought for a minute. "And we should get you a cake at some point. It's one of your big birthdays!"
"Soon, I'll be your age," Machiavelli said, slipping into their normal banter. "And then I'm going to be older than you again. What are you going to do then?"
"You're not going to be my age for another month. And I've told you I like when you're older than me. Feels more normal," Billy said sleepily. He invaded the tactician's space some, cuddling closer to Machiavelli. "Did you really have fun last night?" he breathed, so quiet that Machiavelli, who was already admittedly distracted both by the close contact and his thoughts, almost didn't hear him.
"Yeah." Machiavelli couldn't help what slipped out next. "I'd like to do it again some time."
Billy grinned into his pillow. "Sure, maybe next weekend. What time did I say it was anyways?" he mumbled. He pawed around on his bedside table for his phone and looked at it again.
"You just looked at your phone!"
"I'm not processing a lot at this hour, Mac," Billy said, craning his head to look at the time. He squinted at the numbers for a minute and then with a groan, tossed the phone back on the table. "Oh god, why were you up at this hour? It's not even six!" He covered his head with his pillow.
Machiavelli knew that the Kid had really fallen asleep this time when soft snores escaped from under the pillow. His eyes itching with tiredness, he settled on his side. Knowing that the American immortal was asleep, he reached under the blankets and held his hand briefly, giving it a squeeze, before letting go. He felt a little numb, not knowing where exactly he stood. Billy clearly had no recollection of last night and while this was a relief in some ways, in other ways, it was rather disappointing.
He drifted into an uneasy sleep, smiling slightly when Billy took his hand again. It would seem that at least unconsciously, the outlaw had some feelings towards him, though what those feelings were exactly, he couldn't tell.
~MB~
When he woke up again, Billy was the one gone from the bed this time. He sat up in the semi-darkness, grateful that Billy had left the shades drawn. He rubbed away the rheum from his eyes, tossing the blanket over. He pulled his legs over the side of the bed and stretched experimentally before getting up at last. He had no clue what time it was, but figured it must be kind of late, to judge from how light the rest of the house was. He plodded down the stairs, locating Billy in the kitchen.
The Kid grinned at his entrance. "Hi!" he said, opening his laptop. "I know I promised you real food, but I was thinking of ordering a pizza. Cause I don't really want to go out right now to look for ingredients."
"That's fine," Machiavelli yawned, sitting on one of the stools at the island. "You're feeling better," he observed.
"I'm heavily medicated, sir," Billy responded, scrolling through their options. He finally selected a place off of the phone and dialed the number.
While they waited for their food to arrive, the outlaw moved about the room, washing some dishes and putting them away. Machiavelli wanted to help, but was overcome by sheer exhaustion, his lack of sleep positively stupefying him. He slumped over the linoleum top island, absently tracing patterns in the design. He mumbled a slightly muffled thanks when the American handed him a mug.
"We should call Scatty," Billy said, settling on the kitchen counter with his piece of pizza. He took a bite and tried desperately to keep some of his cheese on the slice, but ended up cramming half of the pizza in his mouth in the process. He looked a little disgruntled. "I hate when that happens," he said under his breath. But then he brightened. "Anyways, we never called her when we got here. We've got to tell her and the Flamels we made it."
Machiavelli's stomach dissolved. "Maybe we should call her tonight," he suggested, feverishly pushing off the conversation. "We can clean this afternoon. The whole place's dusty." And I can text her ahead of time, he thought internally.
Billy shrugged. "Sure," he agreed readily, snagging another slice from the box. "Mac, are you okay? You're not eating much. And you seem like you're in a funny mood."
Niccolò picked at his arm, then realized that was going to help him convince Billy he was alright. He picked up a slice of pizza. "I'm alright. It's just some vestigial hangover," he fibbed. He cast around for another subject. "How many rooms do we have to clean here, anyways?"
The Kid shrugged. He ticked them off on his fingers. "Well, on this floor's the kitchen and the dining room, then above us is the living room and the bathroom, and then of course the bedroom and the study is above that. And we've got the little bathroom off of the bedroom. So that's… seven rooms. We don't have to do it all today. Probably put the study off till last. It's not like we do much studying, right?" And he laughed at his own joke. Machiavelli just shook his head, a small smile gracing his features.
"You said you had some friends that lived here in town?" Machiavelli probed. With the Kid's back turned, Machiavelli pocketed the immortal's phone, telling himself that he'd give it back to the other man later. But for now he couldn't risk the Kid calling Scatty before he got a chance to do so.
Billy nodded. "I'll introduce you some time. Not today necessarily…"
"No, we're both too hungover for any real human interaction. But I would like to meet some people while we are here."
"Did you want to clean today or take a lazy day?" Billy asked. He hopped down from the counter and sat beside Machiavelli at the island. He yawned, resting his head on the Italian's shoulder.
Machiavelli reflected that the Kid had perhaps gotten too comfortable with him over the summer's progress. As grown men, the close physical contact must look fairly strange to anyone outside of the two of them. "We should probably at least do some cleaning today," he decided. He put a hand on Billy's shoulder, not sure if he should still behave this way, but Billy seemed oblivious to any awkwardness that Machiavelli might feel.
"You're probably right," Billy mumbled straightening in his seat. He looked around sleepily. "Guess it's a good thing you stayed in your sweats. I've got some cleaning supplies downstairs." He slid off of his seat, Machiavelli mirroring his actions. Opening a door at the end of the entrance hallway, the outlaw fumbled for the light switch on the side. A dull orange glow filled the stairwell when Billy finally flicked it on. "Down we go. You know Mac, you don't have to do the cleaning with me if you don't want to," Billy called, rummaging in the garage for buckets.
Machiavelli came down the stairs to join him. He purposefully looked at a different section of the garage than where the American was, knowing that he had to be careful now as his feelings towards the other man became more evident by the day. "I am capable of helping you clean," he said, with a slight tone of indignation.
"Aw, Mac, I didn't mean to insult you. I know you're capable, I just thought you might not want to." Having grabbed several buckets, a mop, and the new package of sponges he'd gotten at the store, Billy came over to where Machiavelli was leaning slightly on the car. The Kid gave him his best winning smile. "I'm suited towards these menial tasks, Mac, but you, you're a classy guy." He gripped the gray eyed immortal's shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. "Here, take the mop, would you?"
Machiavelli followed him back up to the main level of the house. Looking around, he couldn't help but feel that he'd made a mistake. They hadn't been in the other parts of the house the day before and he hadn't realized that Billy's place was quite so big. From the hall closet, Billy pulled out an absolutely ancient vacuum. "Which do you want to do first, the kitchen or the living room?" he asked with a grin.
Wanting to explore, Machiavelli indicated the living room, so they dragged the vacuum up a floor. Billy wrapped a rag around the broom and set to knocking the cobwebs off of the ceiling and corners. Machiavelli decided he'd better start pulling the sheets off the furniture, waiting for Billy to do a section of the room before uncovering each piece. This had definitely served as some sort of man cave at some point of time. All the furniture was an equal mix of comfort and ugliness. Moving about the room, he was grateful that Billy hadn't put a shag carpet in and he told the American immortal this.
Billy laughed and explained that he'd first bought this house around the turn of the century and since then, only changed what he had to when the need arose. Tossing the now filthy rag into the pile of sheets to be washed, he scooped them all up and pushed them down the laundry shoot. "There's a basket down there," he explained to Niccolò's next question. "You might want to stay away from the electric sockets when I plug this in," he added, unwrapping the cord from the vacuum. I'm not entirely sure this won't blow a fuse or electrocute all of us when I first put it in."
"Then why use it, Billy?" Machiavelli asked plaintively, moving to the center of the room nonetheless. He sighed in relief when nothing happened and moved the deceptively heavy coffee table out of the way for the American immortal. Going back into the hall, he grabbed the Windex and another rag and set to washing the windows.
The rest of the day passed in this vein, the two immortals not so much cleaning the house as waging war with the years of grime left behind. Machiavelli wondered if the little bedroom at the cabin was going to look like this eventually and resolved to make Billy bring him back there at least once a year to prevent such thing from happening. He rubbed at his arms, feeling the sore muscles. Even with all of their work, they'd only managed to do the living room, the kitchen, and their bedroom.
"Oh, why don't we stop for the day?" Billy said at last, plopping down on the ground right where he'd been standing. Machiavelli thought about sitting on the bed, but realized his clothes would make a mess of the bedspread, something his counterpart had apparently already thought of. He sat down beside Billy for a moment, pulling off his socks and balling them up so that he could toss them in the laundry basket in the corner. "That was a lot of work," Billy groaned. He tugged off his shirt and used it to mop the sweat off his face, leaving dirty smudges on his forehead instead. "You want to take your shower first?"
"No, you can," Machiavelli decided generously. "I can wait."
"Sweet," Billy said, clambering to his feet. "I'll try to be quick," he promised.
"Take your time," Niccolò said dismissively, holding out his hands for Billy to pull him up. "I think I'll be in the study. I don't feel like I'm going to make a mess in there." Fleeing the room, he waited for the sound of the water before he dialed Scathach. She picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Scatty," he said dully.
"Hello, Mac." There was a moment of rare hesitation on her part. "What's up?"
"Are the Flamels in the room with you?" Machiavelli asked, sitting on the desk by the window. He fiddled with the drawers.
"Yes, I can look for that," she answered back and he knew that they must be around. He waited as she moved upstairs, imagining her progress. His keen hearing picked up the sound of the door closing behind her. "I didn't tell them what happened," she said softly, that strange tone of her voice edging its way back in. "You don't sound very happy, kid. What happened? Did you two have a fight?"
"No fight, no nothing. Billy's going to call you later on tonight. I wanted to give you a heads up before then."
"But what happened?" Scatty asked again, sounding very confused.
He couldn't really blame her. "Billy, uh, he doesn't remember much of last night. We were both pretty drunk. I guess he was drunker than I was. Or maybe he does remember last night, and he's just pretending not to, to be nice cause he doesn't feel the same way," Machiavelli said quickly, fear rushing into his heart.
"Don't jump to conclusions, kid, I think things are going to turn out okay for you, I really do." He was touched by the gentleness in her voice. Scatty certainly didn't have to and wasn't known for being sympathetic. He sighed. In the other room, he could hear the water turn off and he knew he didn't have a lot of time. "He's out of the shower," he said into the phone.
Sure enough, he heard the rap of Billy's knuckles on the doorframe a moment later. "Mac, you in here?" Billy poked his head into the study.
Machiavelli slid off the desk and gave a slight wave. "Scatty called," he said carefully. To her, he said, "Billy's out of the shower, so I'm going to give you to him, okay? I'll be done soon and then we could all talk if you want." Listening to her response, he waited, then handed the phone over to Billy.
Billy flipped the phone in his hand so that he was holding it correctly. "Hi, Scatty! I've missed you." He settled on the bed, lying across it diagonally. Machiavelli could hear his animate chatter as he moved about the bathroom, stripping off his dirty clothes. Even before he got in the shower, he had to scrub at his fingers to get the dirt out of the creases. Stepping into the shower, he felt instantly better. The hot water poured down on him, momentarily distracting him from his thoughts of Billy and the conversation happening.
He scrubbed at his body, a little disgusted at the murky water that was spilling down the drain. He felt like he couldn't have gotten dirtier if he'd gone outside and rolled around in the street. At last convinced that he had done the best he could do, he turned the taps off and stepped out. Cold evening air attacked his wet body, forcing him to dive for the last of the clean towels. Toweling off, he realized he had made a fatal mistake in forgetting to grab clean clothes. He sighed and wrapped the towel tightly around his waist before stepping out into the bedroom. "Don't look, I have to get dressed."
"Don't worry, I'm not that interested in your naked body," Billy said cheekily. They both heard a loud noise on the phone, the Kid getting the brunt of it. He held the phone away from his ear. The American immortal made a high yipping laugh, sounding like a sort of deranged hyena, as he listened to Scatty say something. "No, Mac's just doing a strip show for me," he said, finally.
Machiavelli leaned over Billy, getting close to the phone. "I most certainly am not," he said in a loud, clear voice. Billy chucked him on the chin and he huffed. Straightening to his full height once more, he pulled one of Billy's t-shirts on over his pajama pants. "I need better sleep attire," he told the Kid, who shrugged. He pulled Billy into a sitting position. "Let's sit downstairs, we'll be more comfortable," Machiavelli pleaded, so his companion begrudgingly got off the bed, following him down to their now clean living room.
The Italian immortal flicked on a light, bathing the room in a warm glow. He arranged himself delicately on the couch, Billy flopping down next to him. "Wait a minute, Scatty, I'm going to put you on speakerphone," Billy interrupted. He hit a button and put the phone on the coffee table. "Can you hear both of us?" he asked, settling into the comfy couch cushions.
"Hi, Scatty," Machiavelli called, absently curling into Billy side. Realizing what he'd done, he made to shift over again, but Billy slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. They looked at each other.
"Hey, boo," Scatty said back. Machiavelli grinned. "Is that my new name from you?" he asked. Scatty sounded lofty. "Billy reminded me, while you were showering, that as you are no longer a kid, he goes back to being the Kid." Next to him, Billy nodded affirmatively. Machiavelli put a hand on his face and gave him a little push. "So Billy tells me that you went to a nightclub last night?"
"We did," Machiavelli acknowledged, trying to sound like this was the first time he was talking about it.
"You pick up a lot of girls?" Scatty asked teasingly.
"He did," Billy broke in. Grinning at his companion, he leaned closer to the phone. "Our Italian Stallion was dancing with two girls at one point," he told her conspiratorially. Scathach feigned amazement on her end. He went on to describe their night in great detail, Niccolò occasionally throwing in his own detail or correcting Billy's faulty memory. Scatty occasionally threw in a comment of her own. "And then after a certain point, I don't really remember much," Billy summed up. He frowned for the first time, creases forming between his eyes. "I guess I just had too much to drink, but it's funny, I feel like something important happened. What happened, Mac?" He looked over at the dark-haired immortal.
Machiavelli had been drifting off to sleep a little, but woke completely with a little jolt. "What happened?" he repeated. There was a second where he didn't know what to say. "I brought you home and put you to bed. That's all."
"But I feel like there was something else," Billy pressed.
"It was probably nothing," Scatty broke in.
Machiavelli fumbled with his gold pendant. "It was raining when we got out. We ran back to the house." He didn't say anymore, afraid that additional details would spark Billy's memory. The outlaw nodded, but he still looked like he was thinking about the night before. Hurriedly, Machiavelli changed the topic. "Where are the Flamels, Scatty?"
"Ah, they're doing an inventory for the bookstore tonight. They should be back soon. Perenelle actually wanted me to remind you, that you should be thinking of your people and the places they might be located at, in conjunction with having your fun." She sounded like she was reading from a script. "She doesn't want you to forget."
"I could never forget my mother," Billy said happily. "She was my favorite woman in the whole world, no offense to you." He glanced at Machiavelli. "We should probably end the call for the night, Scatty. Mac's practically asleep." They exchanged their goodbyes and Billy handed the Italian his phone. Glancing reflexively at the phone, he realized they'd been talking to her for almost two hours. "You're not hungry?" Billy asked him.
Machiavelli shook his head. "Sleepy," he said instead.
"Okay." Billy pulled him to his feet. "Tonight, I'll put you to bed, then."
